


Victims of Circumstance - 6/20 – Dark Men and Strangers

by motsureru



Series: Victims of Circumstance [6]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-18
Updated: 2008-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motsureru/pseuds/motsureru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for Season 1 and Season 2. This is a <b><span>sequel</span> </b>to <i>Any Other Night</i>, which is a <b><span>sequel</span></b> to <i>Broken Glass. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Victims of Circumstance - 6/20 – Dark Men and Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> An enormous amount of thanks to [](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/profile)[**etoile_dunord**](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/), who edits my commas and makes me happy doing it. <3 

**Teaser:** _A clever move, on Mohinder’s part. A clever, but insulting, move.  
_  


.6 Dark Men and Strangers

 

_“Mother, I can explain-”_   


_Anjali held up a halting hand, shaking her head once. “You have never had to explain yourself to me, Mohinder.”_

_But Mohinder still felt the need to tell her, felt the need to give excuses for what she had come to know, for the relationship she seemed to understand all too well without really knowing a thing. He had known her wishes concerning Mira, concerning him and any woman, for that matter. Like every mother, she had hopes and dreams for a family, and Mohinder had always known he would disappoint her, just never quite how. Sylar had shown him exactly how, and  easily. “It’s just, I thought you wanted-”_

_“To see you happy.” His mother stopped him, reaching out and taking his hands. Sylar had left them alone at the breakfast table some minutes before, and Mohinder had wasted as little time attempting to explain her his situation as she had wasted stopping him. “Mohinder, happiness does not always come in the ways we expect it to. Your father was happy when he left for New York. It may not have made sense to you then, but there will come a time when you are at peace with what brings you joy, even if you cannot expect others to understand. Others will be happy for you, too. In their own time.”_

_Mohinder bowed his head then, feeling a humbled sense of affection for this wise woman._

_“I love you, Mother.”_

_She only smiled and squeezed his hands._

 

            Those words played over and over again in Mohinder’s head as he stared blankly down the aisle of the plane. _There will come a time when you are at peace with what brings you joy…_ Mohinder knew that in spite of all the emotions he had struggled with recently in his life, the times he felt most at peace were warm ones beneath sheets, masked in the scent of sex and murmur of low conversation about nothing in particular. Maybe his mother was right: he simply had to ride the wave out instead of paddling against it.

            “Did you hear that?” There was a nudge at Mohinder’s side. The man jumped and turned his gaze over to Sylar, who sat next to him, a smile on his face. 

            “What?”

            “Landing. In fifteen minutes.” Sylar repeated the words that had come from overhead. He reached up and gave a small tug on one of Mohinder’s curls, something of a habit he had developed over their time together. “Where were you just now? They said it twice.”

            Mohinder shook his head with a small smile. “Just spacing out. Thinking about finding a place to stay, I suppose. Hopefully whoever meets us at the airport will be able to tell us about that.”

            “And who’s meeting us at the airport?” Sylar asked, ducking his head of black hair down a little to his right so he could gaze out of the thick glass window at the famous city of Orléans. New territory in his travels, new experiences outside of the United States he never imagined he’d get, lay below.

            Mohinder sat up in his seat, adjusting his seatbelt and ruffling his curls a little. “Mira said a representative from her company would meet us at the airport and give us all the information we needed. It’s been a while since I’ve been to France, and never in the capacity of becoming a resident.”

            Sylar glanced back at his companion, raising an eyebrow. “Wait, ‘we’? Did you tell Mira I was with you?”

            “No, of course not,” Mohinder shook his head. “I didn’t tell anyone about you. You’re going to be a part of my research off the books— when I have time to do it, that is. Hopefully it will be a no-questions-asked sort of deal…”

            Sylar frowned slightly to himself as he considered that situation, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “And while you’re working on the virus material, I’m going to be…?”

            A small shrug from the darker man. “Learning French…? You could always get a part-time job.” Mohinder felt an uneasiness creep into his stomach. He hadn’t really considered what Sylar would be doing with his time while he worked. It had seemed to be a sort of non-issue in his mind in lieu of greater problems at the time, but clearly it might become one.

            Rubbing the back of his neck, Sylar shrugged in return. “It’s France. I could always do art. You know, paint peoples’ futures on the street corner for a few Euros.”

            “That’s not funny.”

 

 

             Passing customs quickly, and luckily able to avoid baggage claim all together because of their light traveling, Mohinder and Sylar set about searching that area of the airport for the person who was to meet them. Sylar was the one, however, who ended up looking this way and that just to see the people, to hear another foreign tongue surround him, and commit a new place to memory. He felt he could tell immediately who was a tourist and who was not; something struck him as distinctly more reserved about this country’s people than his own. He supposed stereotypes did hold some sort of truth, in the end.

            Following closely behind Mohinder as he walked, Sylar nearly doubled them both over when Mohinder stopped. Sylar tripped over Mohinder’s tug-along suitcase and slammed into his shoulders, just barely catching them both with the help of a telekinetic push to right them. Mohinder gave a sharp look back as he caught his balance again, and Sylar gave a brief shrug and a guilty little smile, squeezing Mohinder’s shoulder.

            Mohinder cleared his throat, adjusting the strap of his laptop bag. “There’s our guide, I’d assume.” He nodded in the direction of a man standing to the side of baggage claim, and Sylar’s eyes followed to his form.

            He was a tall man; from a short distance, one could see that he was almost Sylar’s height, at least six feet tall, a good two inches or more above Mohinder. He was slender as well, almost skinny, and his skin was pale, like a man who never saw the light of day more than on lunch hours and his journey to work each morning. His hair was a white-blonde, the sort of flaxen color that looked almost bleached, even if it were natural, and was worn short and close to his neck. Pale green eyes were followed up by a Roman nose and a warm smile. He wore that smile just like he wore the sign that read ‘DR. SURESH’ in bold black letters.

            Mohinder hailed the man with a hand, catching his attention as they walked over. Sylar followed behind again, eyeing the man. The stranger wore a form-fitting pair of faded blue-gray jeans that were worn at the thighs and a crisp dark gray button-up shirt that was untucked. He looked no older than Sylar or Mohinder.

            “Doctor Suresh? Mohinder Suresh?” the man called. His entire face seemed to brighten when he said the name, a wide smile with full teeth crossing his lips. Immediately, the man stuck out a hand. 

            Mohinder took it and smiled in return, shaking the man’s hand firmly. “You’re from Catalyst Labs?” he inquired.

            The man nodded with that broad smile, squeezing Mohinder’s hand again before he released it. “My name is Sebastian Godard. I’m going to be your new partner. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Suresh.”

            Mohinder blinked, taking in the sight of the man. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but certainly not someone as young or casually dressed as he was. It took a moment for Sebastian to register in Mohinder’s mind. “I- …I’m sorry, I was expecting just a representative to come get me, not my partner. But I’m very happy to meet you, too.”

            “I know, I don’t look quite like a lab worker, dressed like this on my day off. I apologize,” he said quickly. “But still, it’s so exciting to be meeting you, Dr. Suresh. I’ve been an admirer of your father’s work for a long time.” The man’s excited expression seemed to light up his whole being; Sebastian seemed animated with every word.

            “My father’s work?” Mohinder questioned, feeling a red flag go up immediately. He didn’t trust when people told him that anymore. He resisted the urge to glance back at Sylar and exchange a look, but he was sure that the man was already hearing Mohinder’s heartbeat spike.

            Sebastian merely nodded. “Oh yes, didn’t Mira tell you? I’m a virologist, but my specialty is in genetic disorders. I’ve gone to India before, to look into your father’s research. I know he did field work alone, but I was hoping to seek out his colleagues, and-”

            “You found that he didn’t have any,” Mohinder interjected, a small, bitter smile on his face.

            Sebastian nodded, a softer expression coming to his green eyes. “I went home disappointed, I’m afraid. Until Mira’s company contacted me about Sanjog, and I began to think that maybe this new virus and his work had been connected.” Sebastian was speaking faster now, his words excited and a little slurred by a slight French accent.

            Mohinder wasn’t sure what to tell him, what to reveal. But he felt his stomach flutter at the chance that someone else had stumbled upon this discovery much like his father had, beginning with a special child. What new discoveries might this man, so full of enthusiasm, bring with him? Mohinder reminded himself not to get carried away by the moment and maintain his precaution. “Ah, I’m sorry, if you want to talk about this more, we can, but we’re just a bit exhausted from the flight, and-”

            “Oh my, yes, yes, I’m so sorry, I-” Sebastian blinked his large eyes suddenly, as though he had just learned for an instant to see past the doctor he admired. “And your friend here? I didn’t realize you’d have someone with you, I almost missed him. What’s his name?”

            Sylar resisted the urge to raise a condescending eyebrow at the man. So he was not even a person to be addressed directly, next to the famous Doctor Mohinder Suresh, was he?

            Mohinder glanced back at Sylar for a moment. “Ah, his name is-”

            “Tom.” The name slipped past his lips before he had even thought about it. A question of whether or not he’d ever told Mohinder his father’s name before crossed Sylar’s mind, but he quickly pushed it away before it distracted him. “Thomas Gray.” Sylar extended his hand past Mohinder and to Sebastian, giving him a friendly but neutral smile. “And you are Sebastian… Godard? _Godard_?” he pronounced it with the ‘d’ sound first, then without it the second time, true to a French pronunciation.

            Sebastian continued to smile, taking his hand and shaking it once. “The French way is how it’s supposed to be, but once you tell one person you’re traveling from England they tend to make assumptions. I’ve lived between England and France my whole life, so my accent is atrocious and I can’t really fault anyone if they don’t get my name right,” he laughed softly.

            “Ah, I was wondering about the accent. A little French, a little not.” Sylar replied easily, making his words sound natural. Only a touch of disinterest slipped through, but Mohinder alone could have recognized it.

            “And what is your business here, Mr. Gray?” the man asked, looking between them.

            “Well, I’m-”

            “A bit of a lab rat,” Mohinder said suddenly, clapping a friendly hand on Sylar’s shoulder for show. “He’s around for some of my private research, a walking sample, you could say. He’s agreed to stay a little while in France with me while I get myself settled in again so we can get back to work.”

            The look Sylar cast to Mohinder was narrowly short of a glare. With that single, very deliberate statement, Mohinder had cut him off from the realm of scientific discussion with this man. He had rendered Sylar’s place in the hierarchy of brilliant scientific minds to the very bottom, a mere lab toy, while the great men played the genetics game. Sylar felt himself bristling from the thought. Mohinder had left it vague, as well, assuring Sebastian wouldn’t make the connection between Chandra’s work and Mohinder’s. A clever move, on Mohinder’s part. A clever, but insulting, move.

            “Well isn’t that convenient. Wish the rest of our samples could be obtained that easily.” Sebastian chuckled. “I have a cab waiting. Mira said you’d want to look into a place to live, so I’ve arranged a meeting with a really good realtor in the area to help you find an apartment immediately. I told her you’d want something mildly furnished and move-in ready on the spot. I’ve arranged for your other paperwork to be delayed a little. Can I take your suitcase?” he offered.

            Mohinder shook his head. “No thank you. Lead the way?” He motioned ahead, and Sebastian nodded, doing just that. Mohinder cast a meaningful look back to Sylar, just as a warning, and then started after Sebastian.

            “Well, I have all the information on Catalyst waiting for you, and I can tell you a little more about the lab today or tomorrow, if you’d like. I’m positively thrilled to be working with you, Doctor Suresh. It’s really an enormous honor.” 

            Sebastian continued to prattle on about this and that, about Orléans and the surrounding area, about every day life and how long he’d been in France before now. For Sylar, getting into the cab seemed like damnation and getting out the greatest reprieve he could have been granted. It was one thing for a person to praise Mohinder for his genius, and yes, he was one, Sylar knew, but it was quite another to idolize him like he was Darwin himself. Sylar grew weary of it as quickly as he did Sebastian’s voice. They couldn’t have arrived at a parting point, the realtor’s office, quickly enough.

            “I’m so very excited to start our research together, Doctor Suresh.” Sebastian was continuing as he stood in the open cab door, prepared to leave them. He kept grinning like a fool, like an overstimulated child. Sylar kept his own face impassive, waiting impatiently for the irritating man to be gone. “You will be an amazing asset to our work in the laboratory. First thing tomorrow call me and we’ll handle your residency forms and I’ll give you a tour of the lab?”

            Sylar wondered, quite sincerely, what the man’s brains would look like splattered across that laboratory floor. Pulling a disarming smile into place, Sylar stuck out an interrupting hand between them. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” Mohinder was watching, so civility was a must, for the time being. No matter; it was a game Sylar was accustomed to playing.

            Looking taken aback for a second, Sebastian gave Sylar a curt nod and shook his hand. “Yes, you too, Mr. Gray. Tomorrow then, Doctor Suresh?”

            Mohinder nodded, reaching out and shaking Sebastian’s hand as well. “Yes, thank you so much for your help, Sebastian. I’ll contact you tomorrow.” Small waves were exchanged, and then Sebastian disappeared into his taxi, which pulled away into the afternoon street.

            Sylar and Mohinder took a moment to watch it go, and then finally turned to each other.

            “…”

            “…”

            Mohinder’s look turned slowly critical, and Sylar rolled his eyes.

            “Don’t look at me like that, Mohinder. If I had to spend five more minutes with that man, I’d have killed him. And not just because I’m me. Anyone would. It was torture.” He turned and started up the steps, reaching for the office door.

            Mohinder made a slight scoffing noise in his throat. “Look, just because his personality seems a little overbearing at first doesn’t mean you have to be rude.”

            “I was behaving myself,” Sylar countered, pushing the door open for Mohinder.

            “If he knew you better he wouldn’t have thought so. I’ll have to work with him every day from now on, so don’t go out of your way to make him uncomfortable. _I’m_ the one who will have to deal with the fallout.” Mohinder sighed as they slipped inside. It seemed the adventure was only beginning.

 

            Only beginning indeed. For the next several hours Mohinder had to embrace his inner Frenchman, trying to remember all of the obscure vocabulary one learns in a language but never feels they’ll ever use in everyday conversation. Aside from his attempts at words like ‘square footage’ and ‘utilities services,’ the hardest thing for the woman to understand in Mohinder’s French was the simple fact that he didn’t want to live inside Orléans’ city limits. In truth, he wanted to keep wherever he lived far enough away from the laboratory to feel secure in their safety.

            What they ended up finding was a small complex in Cercottes, a nearby city that provided buses into Orléans regularly. The apartment was something not fancy or large, but cheap, and with furniture. Once Sylar had given his blessing on the kitchen and the landlady had haggled her way with Mohinder into a large safety deposit, they found themselves in an apartment of their own. Simple and compact, it was nothing but white, blank walls, a small couch, an island of cabinets that divided living room from kitchen, and a bedroom at the end of a hall. Mohinder was handed a set of keys, and the door closed behind them.

            Sylar and Mohinder exchanged a look, and Mohinder moved ahead of him to take his suitcase and laptop to the bedroom. “Well, at least we’re not spending the night on the streets or in some overpriced hotel.” Mohinder stated first. He had noticed a small touch of discomfort on Sylar’s part as they searched for a place to stay and couldn’t help but wonder if the idea of settling somewhere permanently bothered him.

            Following behind Mohinder down the hall, Sylar listened a wall over to see if they had neighbors about next door. As far as he heard, they did not. “I’ll have an excellent time wandering the streets of Cercottes looking for a grocer tomorrow. Maybe I’ll end up fluent by accident and surprise you when you get home,” Sylar replied. Though it wasn’t terribly strong in tone, his sarcasm was obvious. Sylar dropped his bag on the small desk in the bedroom, while Mohinder put his belongings on the end of the bed, opening his bag.

            “I’d almost think you were worried about the language barrier, Sylar. But, you know, French isn’t _that_ difficult. I can teach you. And it’s not as if you don’t have an entire country of native speakers around to practice with as well.” Mohinder pulled out some of his nice shirts and set them on the bed. Hopefully they had an iron.

            “I could just ask Doctor _Godard_. You think Doctor _Godard_ would grace me with his talents?” Sylar asked, putting a special emphasis into the name as he said it. He turned around to watch Mohinder, leaning his palms behind him against the desk. “If Doctor _Godard_ didn’t look my way, a poor little lab rat like me wouldn’t know what to dowith myself.”

            Mohinder rolled his eyes, turning around to meet Sylar’s testy gaze. “Is that what this is about? You don’t like Sebastian, and that’s bothering you? Or that I told him you were just a test subject?”

            “If the marvelous Doctor Suresh says I’m nothing but a lab rat, then I should be honoredshouldn’t I?” Sylar replied coolly, eyes narrowing slightly.

            Frowning, Mohinder gave Sylar a critical look. “I told him what I had to, Sylar. I wasn’t about to tell him you had abilities, or were even my lover, for God’s sake! It’s too early to deal with those kinds of complications.”

            Sylar’s own lips turned downward, and he stepped forward to meet Mohinder’s stance. It was that predatory look in his eyes, the one that seized life from others, that made Mohinder falter slightly and step back an inch. 

            “I can lie for myself, Mohinder. You know that.”

            Mohinder swallowed, and he nodded as Sylar stepped forward again, so that he looked down at the darker man, their noses almost touching and personal space long gone. “I- …I know you can. But I had to play the game naturally… I can’t afford to mess this up.”

            There was a sudden push, but the touch Mohinder felt to his shoulders came from no hands. Sylar used his mind to shove Mohinder down, and Mohinder hit the mattress with a small bounce that was quickly halted by the same force pinning his body flat. Sylar himself then reached out, crawling forward onto the bed on palms and knees, to hover over the man. 

            “Sylar, stop it,” Mohinder began, feeling his blood begin to pump faster. He put forth an angry expression and a stern voice, his only defenses. “We talked about this in London- no abilities! Not on me. Let me go.” As much as Sylar in control was often the circumstance of their physical play together, Mohinder had set down his rules firmly weeks before; he didn’t always like the loss of control Sylar’s power made him feel. He felt the tiniest concern that Sylar might lose himself again some day, and the situation now gave Mohinder a hint of fear for that possibility. 

            Sylar leaned down, brushing his nose and then his lips against Mohinder’s throat, pushing aside his curls. “I don’t like this game you’re playing, Mohinder. I don’t get to move my own pieces.” Sylar spoke low, lifting a hand to touch his fingertips to the collar of Mohinder’s shirt. 

            When his fingers began to trace the buttons, flicking them open one by one, Mohinder’s breath caught in his throat. Mohinder did not realize immediately the reason for this, and he could merely jerk his shoulders, trying to move them. All he could manage was his head, his lower legs, and they did him no good as he felt Sylar’s lips touch the exposed juncture of his collarbones. “Sylar! This isn’t funny, let my arms free.”

            Sylar smiled at that, lifting both his hands this time to part the unbuttoned fabric and expose Mohinder’s warm, dark-skinned chest. He watched as it rose and fell, squirming and struggling against the hold it could not break. Sylar admired Mohinder’s torso, took in the few curls of black hair that trickled down his pectorals, only to disappear over his ribs and reappear at his belly button. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Doctor Suresh. You see, I’ve been-” Sylar punctuated his words with wet kisses down the center of Mohinder’s chest, moving steadily downward with each one, “-such an admirer of your work- I can hardly- contain myself when I’m around you…”

            Mohinder threw his head back against the mattress, feeling his heart race and his skin prickle with a stirring heat, unable to help but harden slowly beneath Sylar’s touch. His breath caught with each kiss, and when Sylar’s hands began to fumble with his belt, Mohinder fully understood the power play going on here.

            Coming to France, the company job, the foreign place, the foreign language, the lies Mohinder had thrust upon the man… Sylar was lashing out against the control Mohinder had stripped him of in these past few days, reasserting his position of dominance in the order of things. The only thing he could properly take over, now, was Mohinder himself, and the best expression of that power was to show him just how helpless he could be to Sylar’s advances, to show Mohinder just how easily he submitted to them. Mohinder knew his body couldn’t lie, even if his words screamed ‘stop’ until he was hoarse. Sylar would be satisfied.

            “Sylar…” Mohinder gave a warning, withering tone, looking down at him as the man unzipped Mohinder like that morning in India, lips hovering just below his belly button. Sylar merely let a slow smirk spread across his face as their eyes met, and slid a hand down to grasp Mohinder through the fabric of his boxers.

            An abrupt groan came from Mohinder’s lips, and he tossed his head to the side, gritting his teeth and breathing more heavily. Sylar gave several slow, testing strokes through the fabric, and then pulled it down, just enough to leave Mohinder’s pants and boxers on, but his erection abruptly exposed. The man was sweating a bit now, hips and shoulders trembling as he fought against Sylar’s mind to no avail.

            “Talking is pretty useless, Doctor Suresh,” Sylar murmured, taking in the sight of his struggles, “But your French is sexy. Speak French to me.” Sylar grasped the base of Mohinder’s arousal, almost experimentally, and let his mind drift back for a moment to that night in London, to the way Mohinder’s mouth felt around him. Hot, tight, wet. He was going to give Mohinder that and more. Licking his lips, Sylar pressed them slowly to the tip, letting his tongue explore carefully the taste and shape of the man beneath him.

            Mohinder gave a sharp, stifled cry, panting. His brow was quickly slick with sweat, body shaking from the effort to buck upwards, to lean his body in, to do anything but be forced to lay back and take Sylar’s attentions without control. Sylar’s mouth was moving unhurriedly, tongue brushing along the underside, fingers stroking just as deliberately slowly where his mouth was not. Mohinder’s fingers dug into the mattress beneath him, hands turning pale.

            The only French Mohinder managed to force from his lips was incomprehensible.

            The salt of Mohinder’s skin, the tang of his bodily fluids, nothing compared to the desperation Sylar heard rushing beneath his skin with his boiling blood. He pushed down deeper, then finally came up again, using the strokes of lips and tongue he recalled from that fuzzy night in London. It was when he added pressure, using his mouth to its fullest, that he felt Mohinder’s body give a jolt beneath him.

            Mohinder flung his head back sharply, biting his lip hard through a moan. There had been a time for denial, and now was clearly no longer it. He’d give in. “ _F-Faster…!_ ” Mohinder breathed the command gruffly, fingernails dragging against the fabric beneath him, eyes shut hard. He couldn’t fight this, he couldn’t fight what he wanted any longer. “ _God… faster…!_ ”

            Sylar obliged, hands moving to hold onto those hips already pinned. Amateur though he felt, he slipped his lips smoothly down and up Mohinder’s erection, tongue flicking over the head each time he came up and mouth grasping tighter around him. Mohinder’s pleas turned into ungraceful, uneven gasps, his curls tossing from side to side as he struggled to contain what Sylar would not even let him give fully in to.

            Once Sylar felt Mohinder stiffen more rigidly against his tongue and heard those moans deepen, he experienced the first burst of the man’s orgasm behind his lips. Caught off guard, Sylar pulled back quickly, the biting flavor sharp against his tongue. He grasped Mohinder fully, stroking him the rest of the way through with a firm grip as he came, thumb rubbing through the slick fluids. He spit the rest against the back of his other hand, leaning up to watch Mohinder struggle with the intensity of what was passing.

            The man lay helpless, still, chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat trickling down his temples. Mohinder’s lungs screamed for air, flush blazing high across his cheekbones. Sylar admired it, admired the raw beauty of the man spent. He felt a keen sense of satisfaction, in spite of his own painful hardness, in the state he could render this man to. Mohinder was his, and no other man, no Sebastians of the world, would ever get the see Mohinder in this manner of being. Only Sylar.

            Crawling forward and pressing his sticky lips to Mohinder’s throat, Sylar smiled widely. He turned onto his side, touching his clean hand to Mohinder’s chin to stroke softly, moving his lips to the corner of the man’s mouth. He let his mental hold release, and heard Mohinder give a gasp of a breath when he did.

            “ _S-Sylar, I ought to…_ ” the threat began-

            “-sleep well tonight,” and ended. Sylar lifted his lips to Mohinder’s temple, then pulled himself up, fingertips brushing Mohinder’s lips as he stood from the bed. “I’m going to take a shower. Join me if you’d like,” he offered with a small smirk. It was no secret that his mood seemed infinitely improved. Sylar felt much more at ease, now.

            Mohinder watched the man disappear into the small bathroom to their left, and brought a hand to his forehead. He laid there, sprawled in a state of half undress, and mused for a moment on how carefully he’d have to manage the flow of information between these two men in his life. Sylar might have what was most noticeably a control complex, but Mohinder saw easily the slivers of jealousy that had wormed their way into that dark look in Sylar’s eyes.

            Of course, Mohinder had to wonder if Sylar’s occasional breakdowns might from now on leave him as sated as he felt right now. He should have been angry still, he knew, but all the energy to be angry in his body had been put to quite different purposes. Mohinder could understand, to a degree, Sylar’s frustrations, and felt a little responsible for his part in them. He heard the shower turn on and sat up on an aching elbow, pushing his fingers through the damp tangle of black curls in his eyes. A tiny smile snuck almost unnoticeably to his lips. 

            Mohinder might be able to get used to this kind of catharsis.   


  



End file.
